by Reza Ali
Requiem for a Princess
Blood of your Blood series
Reza Ali
Book 0
Chapter One -The Woods
Chapter Two -The Beautiful Princess
Chapter Three - Heart Of Compassion
Chapter Four - Crown Of Rock
Chapter Five - Princess Of Dark
Chapter Six - New Life
Chapter Seven - The Druid
Chapter Eight - The Ambush
Chapter Nine -The Grift Reaper
Requiem for a Princess
Prelude to Blood of your Blood
Chapter 1
The Woods
Twilight had deepened and turned the cloudless sky violet. The large ironwood and oak trees sprawled ahead, displaying their cunningly woven web of leaves. The foliage was thick and spreadeagled the area around them, making it almost impenetrable. A young man wearing a brown coat with a hood crept forward upon a steady garron, forging a pathway through the undergrowth. Following closely were two knights, unmistakeable in their shiny black ring mail tunics and hard leather boots and gloves, riding upon imposing black destriers.
The young rider suddenly halted and dismounted, then tethered his horse to a nearby tree. The two knights followed his lead, then walked up behind him.
“Beyond the dense shrub, do you see him?” The young man pointed ahead, but his finger seemed at half mast.
“I can barely see the leaves and branches. What are you saying, boy?” barked one of the knights.
The young man scampered back to his horse and returned with a torch. He poured liquid over the tip and set it down. He then pulled out a flint from his pocket and vigorously struck it against a piece of steel, producing a splattering of sparks that caught the incendiary liquid on the torch and ignited it. The flame burnt bright orange and danced in the cold breeze.
“I see him, Sir Charles!” The taller knight’s eyes were fixed on the spot.
The men walked briskly toward the seemingly lifeless body lying ahead. The young man ran the final few feet and hastily checked for a pulse.
“He is as dead as a doornail, Robin. Look at that laceration on his neck. Something sinister took this one, Sir Charles.” The taller one leant over and ran his fingertips over three deep cuts in the dead man’s neck.
“A wolf, Sir Christopher?” Sir Charles inquired, his eyes narrowed.
“No, not a wolf. I can find no trail of anything. Whatever killed him seemed to come from the trees,” said Robin Hardy, the young man with the brown hooded coat.
“Like a killer bird!” Sir Charles laughed.
“Or a deadly squirrel!” Sir Christopher’s roar of laughter rang across the dark forest.
“I am serious, Sirs. There is not a trail to be found. This is strange.” Robin crawled around, sniffing the ground, looking hard at every detail.
“My father used to say ‘dead men tell no tales’!” Sir Christopher’s smile remained etched upon his red lips. He could not have been a day over forty, but his face still gleamed with a youthful appeal.
“Your father was wrong, Sir Christopher. Dead men tell everything if you understand their leavings. I have always sung beautiful melodies with the dead – until tonight, that is. This man tells me nothing. Even the shrubs and leaves around him remain undisturbed.” Robin’s eyes were alert; even the slightest rustling of leaves alarmed him.
A gust of wind swirled across the forest, blowing up the brittle leaves around them. Robin’s head shot around, looking left, right, left and right again. The air suddenly seemed freezing. He had been a tracker for the King’s Guard for five years. He had scoured the Nottingham Forest through years of forays inside, covering every cider, oak and redwood a hundred times over. This forest held no more fears for young Robin Hardy… until tonight. Tonight, there was something about the darkness that disquieted him immensely. He felt unseen eyes all over him, predatory eyes waiting patiently before they would make of him what remained of the dead man.
“Sir Charles, Sir Christopher, please, we must head back now and bring forth a search convoy. I sense there are things around us. We must leave at once!” Robin’s voice reflected a tinge of desperation, but still remained firm. He tried to mask the creeping fear that was slowly taking hold.
“One dead body and you are unmanned! You should join us in battle. The smell of death and fear, grown men pissing themselves right before your eyes, then they spill their entrails right on you; that is when you really want to turn and run back to Mommy’s teats.” Sir Charles’ condescending smile inflamed Robin’s ire.
“I have been in battle and I stood firm for your information, Sir!” Robin blurted.
“Well, gather yourself then, boy! We are not returning to camp without finding an explanation for that dead body. We are on duty here tonight and I will be damned if I have to return squealing to our lord commander that we’re too piss scared to investigate why someone died here during our watch!” Sir Christopher’s strong voice bellowed through the dark forest.
“But Sir–”
“No buts! No whys! No ifs!” Sir Christopher’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “We push on until you find a reason for why this man lies flat on his backside! If you do not like that, then I would gladly request another ranger! Is that what you want, Robin Hardy?”
“No, Sir Christopher.” Robin’s head was bowed submissively. Sir Christopher had scared away the paralysis that his fear had set in. He walked to and mounted his shaggy garron. He strode forward and the knights followed closely.
Frost-fallen leaves descended from the foliage above, swirling in the cold breeze as they danced about the riders. The air grew colder by the minute and the darkness grew darker. Robin’s heart raced like a thoroughbred on a track. In all his years, he had never been this afraid on a range. Without warning, all the horses reared and squealed. Robin grabbed the reigns and gently rubbed his garron’s mane. She calmed and returned to all fours. Sir Charles had dismounted his destrier and brought her under control again. Sir Christopher lay on his backside, as his destrier had reared so high that she had lost him before galloping off into the forest.
“Are you good, Sir?” Robin extended his hand to help Sir Christopher to his feet.
“Do I look like I am good to you?” he barked as his lifted himself up, not taking Robin’s hand.
“Something scared the horses! Look there!” Robin pointed to something lying lifeless on the ground ahead. He made toward it, then knelt and sank his hand into the shaggy mane of the dead horse that lay before him.
“That explains the horses’ reaction,” Sir Charles said as he stood over the dead horse.
Robin ran his fingers over three lacerations, identical to the one on the dead man they had left behind. He pushed his finger inside the wound and looked up curiously at the knights.
“This animal has no blood!” Robin asserted, his eyes narrowing in thought.
“That’s impossible!” Sir Charles declared as he unsheathed his dagger and cut into the dead animal. No blood appeared, not even a trace on his knife. He looked at Sir Christopher, then flicked his gaze to Robin.
“I told you we should not go any farther until we have men,” Robin muttered, keeping his eyes on the animal.
“I have to say I agree with him. Whatever this is, it is killing brutally without prejudice. I do not want to greet this thing tonight.” Sir Charles’ voice reflected a masked fear.
“Very well, then, we return to camp,” Sir Christopher reluctantly agreed.
The men turned and set off back towards the horses, but a mass exodus of birds froze their steps. They hea
rd the unmistakeable sound of leaves rustling, signalling the approach of something. A sense of unbridled fear consumed Robin. This was what he feared most. Whatever this creature was, it had no footprint and it killed brutally. Panic demobilised Robin. He could not move his feet. He wanted to shout to the knights, but the words just lumped up in his throat. He fell to the ground and sat down, incapable of moving.
The knights walked to the one remaining horse. Sir Charles mounted and helped Sir Christopher up, then they rode off, leaving Robin behind. The black destrier galloped through the forest, creating a cloud of dust and leaves in their wake. Unexpectedly, something sprang out from the shaggy head of a large oak tree. It hurtled toward the knights and knocked them off the horse. Their armour clattered as Sir Charles fell over Sir Christopher, then rolled behind the large trunk of an oak tree. Sir Christopher rose to his feet groggily. He seemed disoriented after the fall, but he was still aware of the perilous situation. He clutched the hilt of his sword as he looked around.
The forest was dark, almost too dark. Sir Charles emerged from behind the large oak tree.
“What the hell is going on here, Sir Charles?” Sir Christopher yelled, the fear in his voice now palpable.
“I do not know, but the boy was right; we should have got out of here the moment we saw that dead body!” Sir Charles shouted back.
More leaves rustled, but this time it was right before them. On a tree branch high above, six glowing eyes were fixed on the knights. They drew their swords and stood firm, finding their courage. The creatures leapt from the tree branches and landed before the knights. There were three; their eyes glowed brightly and their fangs bulged on either end of their lips. They looked human but for their unusually pale complexion, black branching veins running up their necks, and claw-like hands and feet. The knights lifted their swords and readied themselves. Sir Christopher charged in sudden fury, flashing his sword in a flat sideward slash as he approached the creatures, hoping to connect with one before moving to the others. His sword cut through the cold air, whistling as it fizzed across, striking nothing. Sir Christopher scanned the area, searching for the three creatures, but it seemed they had disappeared into thin air.
“Sir Charles, did you see them? Were they standing here or am I losing my mind?”
“I saw them as plain as day. Then they were gone, just like that!”
Sir Charles felt a thump on his back. He hit the ground face first with such force that his half helm broke loose and rolled away. Sir Christopher could barely react before something crashed into his chest, sending him hurtling backwards about ten feet. As he hit the ground, something leapt onto his chest and wrapped its slender fingers around his neck. The creature bared its fangs. He tried to push forward, but the creature’s strength was too great; he was immobile and there was nothing he could do to save himself. The creature flung back its head and was about to sink its fangs into him when a voice bellowed through the forest.
“Stop!” It was a female voice, authoritative, yet it still had a calm fragility to it.
The creature’s head stopped right at Sir Christopher’s face, its mouth wide open, fangs bulging and ready. A horrible stench emanated from its mouth.
“Stand down! Let them be!” That voice once again; it sounded as sweet as honey this time.
The creature sniffed Sir Christopher, then left him and walked away. He craned his neck to glimpse the person behind the voice who had saved his life. Then he saw her standing under the large oak tree ahead. Her hair was a cascade of golden curls, beneath which her turquoise eyes gleamed in the whisper of moonlight that wrapped over her. She was incredibly beautiful; something that seemed incongruent considering the hideous creatures that had almost mauled the knights.
A deep voice emanated from the trees. “They saw us. We cannot allow them to live!”
“There will be no killing tonight!” she replied swiftly.
“Princess, this is necessary. They will send men to hunt us and disrupt our business.”
Sir Christopher now saw a man with short dark hair, dressed in crimson silks and high black boots walking beside the woman.
“They will tell no one of this; that, I assure you, Lord Cunningham.” Her voice was as pleasant as a glass of warm milk in the freezing weather.
“How can you trust them when you do not even know them?” Lord Cunningham asked, with coldness in his voice that cut like the icy breeze on their faces.
“Good evening, Sirs. Forgive my men for their inhospitable manners. I have something to ask of you and, in return, you may leave here and reunite with your people without any harm befalling you whatsoever.” She knelt over Sir Christopher, but looked at both knights as she spoke.
The knights looked at her without uttering a word.
“You see, they cannot even agree when their lives depend on it,” Lord Cunningham commented.
“Sirs, I am your friend, your only one amongst foes. I am reliant on your promise of silence. If you betray my trust, I shall have no choice but to have my men revisit you and that would not be a pleasant experience. Now get up and leave. I can only placate them for a time, then their bloodlust will set in and you will be in grave danger.” She spoke with an immaculate grasp of the language.
The knights nodded and rose. Sir Charles hastened off, but Sir Christopher lingered for a moment, then turned to her.
“You are so protective of our lives, but why did your men kill a man in this forest earlier today?” He spoke with some hesitancy.
“I know of no such killing! Lord Cunningham, do you know of this?” Her voice reeked of irritation.
“It was necessary; he had seen us taking blood from the horse.”
“Might I remind you of your duty to your king, your duty to uphold our constitution? There shall be no killing of any human being–”
“Unless it is absolutely necessary for our survival,” interrupted Lord Cunningham with a wry smile.
“My father, your king, would not have approved of this and you know it!” she snapped.
“Your father is dead, My Princess, and we are in the process of being eradicated. Forgive me, but I do not wish to spend our time arguing over the petty lives of humans.” He spoke in a dismissive tone as he turned and sauntered into the forest.
“Sirs, you need to leave at once. Go and never speak of what you saw here and your life will remain the way it was before you entered this forest.” She turned and walked away, disappearing into the dark forest.
The knights did not wait a second longer; they followed the trail back on foot, running all the way despite being clad in armour. A clearing appeared faintly in the distance. Their legs seemed as heavy as stone, but they mustered every ounce of strength to carry them to safety outside the forest. Sir Charles smiled as he approached the clearing; he was almost there, almost safe. As he stepped into the final metres, something appeared right before him. He crashed into it and fell back to the ground. He blinked, trying to see the silhouette of the man who stood directly in his path. The figure crept forward, catching the faint moonlight and revealing its identity. It was Robin Hardy, but there was something vastly different about him. His eyes looked strange; his pupils had completely dilated. His face was pale, almost cadaverous, and black veins branched across his neck and lower jaw. His mouth pulled open and revealed bulging fangs.
“Help me! Sir Christopher, help me.” Sir Charles stumbled back towards a cluster of gnarled oak roots.
Sir Christopher had stopped a few feet behind Sir Charles; he stood dead still and stared at Robin incredulously. Without warning, Robin grunted and leapt upon Sir Charles. Sir Christopher drew his sword, but remained rooted to the spot. Sir Charles screamed in horror as Robin sank his fangs into him. Robin tore a chunk of flesh from Sir Charles’ neck and bopped his head to the right. Sir Christopher caught sight of his bloody mouth. His heart pounded in unbridled fear. He threw his sword to the ground and ran with all the strength he had left. He passed the clearing and made for the gravel road ju
st below the valley. The moon crept slowly across the black sky. A loud shriek cut the air and then there was silence.
Chapter 2
The Beautiful Princess
The drawbridge lowered until it met the bank on the other end of the surrounding moat that separated the castle from land. Four riders and a decadent golden carriage proceeded over the bridge into the castle courtyard. The drawbridge lifted and closed behind the last rider. The men dismounted their horses and waited as the carriage door opened and a small set of steps touched the ground. A long white dress and moderate heels gracefully descended from the stairs and walked ahead of the men. The dress billowed in the cold breeze, but the beautiful lady pressed it down, maintaining poise and elegance as she strode toward the castle doors.
“Princess Evangeline, it is good to have you back. You are truly a special sight, so beautiful it is hard to look away from you.” An elderly man with cropped white hair wearing a satin robe kissed her hand and led her inside.
“Lord Bradley, you flatter me, but thank you. I am honoured to be here.” She gave him a warm smile.
“Lord Bradley, as usual, I am impressed with your impeccable style. Rather ostentatious, but full of class nonetheless,” commented Lord Cunningham, with a hint of condescension.
“Lord Cunningham, I had always likened having you over to getting the most beautiful golden button sewn onto the back of your trousers. It makes your arse look good when you stand, but leaves a hell of a scar when you sit,” Lord Bradley retorted with a smile.
“I have always likened coming here to taking your medicine; it is good for you, but always leaves a bad taste in your mouth.” Lord Cunningham looked fairly proud of his riposte.
“If you two are done trading insults, may we come inside? It has been a long night and I will be damned if I stand here another minute listening to this rubbish!” A handsome blond man stepped up from behind Lord Cunningham.
